


Mortality and Movies

by Imperial_Dragon



Category: 2770 ab urbe condita - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: 2770 ab urbe condita, Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Diet, M/M, Non-Sexual Slavery, Religion - Ancient Rome, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Togas, Ven - Freeform, Wakes & Funerals, movies - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-07-18 22:55:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16128440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imperial_Dragon/pseuds/Imperial_Dragon
Summary: Ven encounters funerals and a great movie franchise.





	1. Mortality

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mossgreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossgreen/gifts).



> 2770 ab urbe condita – from the founding of the city – the Roman Empire is flourishing.
> 
> More Ven and and his master! Go to [2770 ab urbe condita ](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1059413) for Mossgreen's great series.  
> Thanks to [Mossgreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossgreen/pseuds/Mossgreen) for letting me play in her arena.
> 
> Thanks to [macqy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maqcy/pseuds/maqcy) for the beta.

Mortality hit Drusus Varius Metellus with an email, followed by a slave boy bearing a message written on thick, expensive paper.

“Agrippa!” Master said, clutching the message, his voice breaking. “He was only 56! A heart attack. He had so much more to do, to give!”

Ven stood well back. He had never seen his master like this, crying, tearing at his hair with proper Roman grief – it was terrifying, and for once Ven had no clue as to how he should act. A little part of him that Ven had thought well and truly suppressed wanted to step forward and offer support to his master, a word or a touch, but the bigger part thought that this was far too forward for a slave. And what could the support of a slave mean to a Roman patrician like his master?

Be safe; stay back.

But the slave boy awaited a reply.

Ven stepped forward. “Master, a reply is requested.”

His master jerked. “Oh, yes.”

He snatched a piece of paper from his desk, scribbled on it and thrust it at Ven. “Give it to him, then make yourself scarce until I call for you.”

“Yes, master.” Ven scuttled off, glad to get away.

xxxxx

The staff saw little of their master for a few days. He was away getting ready for the funeral. This was only the first stage of the mourning: there would be commemorative matches at the upcoming Gladiatorial Games as well as wakes and funeral dinners. This Agrippa had been one of the master’s commanding officers during his time in the Legions, a career officer and the Imperial Legate of some Legion or other, on the Imperial General Staff in his last years. 

The Emperor would attend some of the mourning events but first there would be the funeral. Master had been asked to help bear the body, a great honour, so he had to get fitted to the litter – this was not a matched set of slaves after all so there had to be risers to even out the heights of the bearers. Then there were new clothes: a simple linen tunic, head veil and rope sandals.

“Because they have to burn the clothes after as part of the ritual cleansing later,” Willow explained.

Ven was not needed at night, or during the day, except for his secretarial duties. Apart from Master not being in the mood, there were issues of ritual purity. Ven couldn’t decide whether he was happy because he was not having sex with Master, or unhappy because he was not able to offer anything at all to his master.

This thought struck Ven as he crossed the atrium on his way to bed in the slave dormitory. When had these sorts of thoughts started to enter his mind? Mind worms, that’s what these thoughts were, and they ate away at a slave until there was nothing left. Ven smacked himself on the cheek and resolved to purge his brain of worms.

Ven, Willow, Moss and Grumio the cook had to accompany their master to the house of Agrippa on the day of the funeral. Master would bear the body from there; the slaves would tend to the funeral feast. All of Agrippa’s slaves were in the funeral procession and it was customary for the guest’s slaves to arrange the food, all brought in for this occasion, and serve it while the deceased’s slaves mourned and ate up large like the official, free mourners.

On the morning of the funeral it was Ven’s turn to attend to the _Lararium._ Grumio and Felix were already up baking bread but everyone else was still asleep. Ven couldn’t sleep, not because this was a funeral (who was Agrippa to him?) but because he and the others would be mingling with the slaves of other households and it should be fun. He was excited.

He heaved himself out of bed, dressed, washed his face and hands with ritual thoroughness, and stumbled bleary-eyed into the atrium, only to stop in shock.

Master sat on the floor cross-legged within the _Lararium_ with his hair covered by his veil. Ven had never seen this before and he crept closer. Master did not stir.

What was he to do? The shrine needed tending but the master must not be disturbed. Maybe he could do this later, if he had time before leaving for the funeral feast.

“It’s done,” Master said. He rose to his feet, bowed to the shrine, and removed his veil. “Don’t look so surprised, boy, I do know how to serve the spirits of my own house.”

Ven padded over to the _Lararium_ and indeed it looked cared for – better than the slaves managed as the votive items were all nicely aligned and there were even flowers from the garden on the altar.

He stood within the bounds of the _Lararium_ , as did the master.

“I am sorry for your loss, Master. The man, um, the Imperial Legate, he helped you when you served in the Legions and it is hard to lose someone who did that.” Ven looked up. The master looked down, his eyebrows raised and Ven blushed for his presumption. “I know I’m just a-”

“Don’t say it.” Master held up his hand. “Thank you, Ven. Before the gods of the dead we are equal. Dis will take us all, slave and master, and the worms will feast or the fires burn regardless of our station. Agrippa guided me from a foolish young man to whatever I am now; less foolish I hope. But he has gone and we who are left must take up their tasks. Now get the other slaves up, we need to be away soon.”

Ven watched his master cross the atrium to prepare for the funeral. Was the master becoming human? Was _he_?

xxxxxx

The rest of the day was fun. At the house of Agrippa the household slaves were already lined up outside leaving the slaves brought in to hunt around the kitchen for whatever was needed. Ven and his fellows were able to watch while the bearers lifted the litter with the body to their shoulders. Master stood very straight under the pole, although frankly the bearers’ action while moving was very poor. If this were a set of slaves they would all have been whipped.

At least the house slaves managed a decent wail. Some of them even seemed to mean it.

There were no bad omens all day, the mourners returned full of solemn and noble sentiment, the feast went off with no hitch, and the house slaves had a great time by stuffing themselves with food in their own quarters. The free men and women also soon left off the sorrow of the funeral in favour of stories of their time in the Legions or ribald reminiscences of the deceased by the women. It meant nothing to Ven, although happy people were easier to serve than the glum.

In the camaraderie Ven heard his master called ‘Iron Man’ and ‘Steely Dan’. Master laughed along with the rest. Here amongst the friends of his youth he was able to lay aside some of that appalling Roman dignity. Ven stayed out of his way just in case he reminded his master of the need to assert his Roman nature.

Toward evening the feast wound down. Master called his slaves over.

“You may return home,” he said. He looked at Willow. “You have the fare for a cycleshaw. When you get home use the house _balnea_ and bathe thoroughly, all the slaves. Your clothes are to be washed and sandals cleaned. I’ll be back late in the evening; you needn’t wait up.”

“Yes, master,” all the slaves chorused together, bowing low.

Master returned to his friends.

“He’s going to the public baths, probably the Diocletian, with his friends,” Willow told them. “I asked the house slaves. They will all wash and put the clothes and shoes from today in a basket to be burned later on in the funeral rites. Master brought a change of clothing. So we have nothing to do for the rest of the day!”

Using Master’s _balnea_ was a rare treat. All the slaves were glad to take advantage of the chance to laze around in the warm water and splash in the _frigidarium_. Willow produced some of Master’s soap and shampoo and Ven’s only complaint was that he had to leave early to let the other slaves take full advantage of the opportunity. He ignored the sounds from the _balnea_ and the giggles when the others finally came to bed.

Master came home late and arose late the next morning. That afternoon Ven discovered what a Roman master was like when he had been restrained for almost a week.

xxxxxx

Mortality entered the kitchen with a book.

“What the fuck does the dear master mean?” Grumio asked when he saw the book Ven held. “The fucking _Slave’s Diet_? What exactly does he think we are eating already?”

“It’s for him,” Ven explained. 

“That’s all right, then,” Grumio said, flicking through the recipes and sneering at them.

“I’m to help you understand anything obscure,” Ven added, and leaned close to whisper, “It’s because of that Agrippa who died of a heart attack. This is supposed to be the healthiest way of eating.”

Grumio seemed to have a good grasp of the concept of a slave’s diet, picked up a few new recipes, and carried on much as before. The difference was that the slaves, used to plentiful, wholesome but plain food, had to get used to herbs, spices and better quality olive oil.

“I’m not cooking two versions of lentil stew,” Grumio said, and that was that.

They also got to eat more honey cake. Grumio made it less often but offered it to the slaves.

“You see, Master gets his serving, and if he wants more – which is not healthy – I have to honestly tell him that there is none left.”

At first Ven was worried that Master would not approve, but he did nothing. Indeed, he called Grumio to the _triclinium_ after a meal with friends to allow them to congratulate Grumio on a particularly good dinner, and gave him a big tip. Grumio was unbearably smug afterwards but his fellow slaves stoically stuffed their faces with honey cake and kept quiet.

Traditionally master and cook was the most fraught of all the relationships between owner and slave. The master might own the house and the slave, but the kitchen belonged to the cook. The cook could be sold or beaten but Grumio gave no cause to be beaten for insolence or stupidity, and according to him a good cook was worth his weight in saffron or truffles. (Willow, who had a good grasp on prices, didn’t agree, but, given the honey cake, only said that once.)

xxxxxx

Mortality crept up on Ven one morning at the _Lararium_.

Ven idly flicked the feather duster over the _Lares_ and _Penates_ while thinking about Moss’s birthday treat of saffron honey cakes and how they had been served at Agrippa’s funeral feast when an unwelcome thought intruded.

Who would bear his body to its grave when he died? Would anyone carry it, or would the body of a slave be dragged to a charnel pit and left to rot with no rituals to send his spirit on?

No, Master would pay for some ease for his spirit, wouldn’t he? Or by then he might be free and able to pay for it himself.

But it would happen, one day.

Ven looked at the shrine that bore the luck of the house. It was all fake, no one really believed in the _Lares_ and _Penates_ and the _Vesta_ in these modern times. Nevertheless he carefully arranged the votive items and found a flower from the garden for the vase.

May it be a question answered far in the future.


	2. Movies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Master's slaves see a movie from one of the greatest film series

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know anything about togas, except what I learned on the internet and what I invented.

“The _toga pulla_ ,” Master ordered Ven, holding out his hand for his belt. “And call for Moss and Icarus to help arrange it.”

“Yes, Master.” Ven handed the belt over and hurried out, finding Junio in the atrium. “Go get Moss and Icarus to come to the linen store. Move it, Junio!”

Before Ven had become the master’s _concubīnus_ , and so risen in status, Junio’s tardiness had not bothered him. But now it worried him, both for his own sake and Junio’s; if there was one indiscretion Master did not forgive it was tardiness.

Junio scuttled off while Ven ventured into the room where Master’s clothes were stored. Since he’d become a _concubīnus_ he had learned a lot about toga types, uses or care.

The _toga pulla_ was the dark toga, the toga of mourning, so Master must be attending another funeral event for this Publius Aurelius Agrippa Constans. Ven waited until Moss appeared, hurriedly swallowing a last mouthful of breakfast.

“Icarus is washing his hands,” Moss said. “Let’s pick this puppy up and take it in to Master.”

“Pick up the bloody enormous mastiff, you mean,” Ven grumbled.

He manoeuvred the cloth off its stand. Moss kept a sharp look out to make sure it did not drag on the floor and ended up lifting the ends. It wasn’t exactly heavy but Ven was glad he did not have to wear the damn thing for hours on end.

Master looked particularly distinguished today, in Ven’s opinion. He wore a dark indigo tunic with acanthus scroll edgings embroidered in white silk, a sombre choice but the dark blue brought out his blue eyes. Ven and Moss waited for Icarus while Master flicked through his emails on his _tabula_.

It only took a moment for Icarus to appear. It was usual for a _concubīnus_ to arrange the toga in a household that lacked a specialist slave. Icarus had learned in his mysterious past, Moss had started to learn before he had been sold off with his scars, and Ven was just starting. He found the process nerve wracking and just hoped to get the toga on without a reprimand.

Icarus bowed to Master. He didn’t kneel; no one wanted to have to pick him up off his knees again, which was very likely as autumn brought cooler temperatures and Icarus had not yet warmed up his knees in the morning. (Too much kneeling and not enough care in his youth, said the SIPAS lady a few years ago, and I don’t expect we’ll have any of _that_ nonsense here.)

He turned to Ven and Moss, sighed, and turned back to Master with another bow. “Master, may I request the privilege of speaking freely to instruct these boys?”

Master looked up from his tabula, eyebrow raised.

“They need firm and direct instruction, Master. Or we could be here till midmorning. Midmorning tomorrow.”

‘Yes, yes.” Master returned to whatever had caught his attention on the internet.

“So, the dark toga,” Icarus said, drawing Ven’s attention. “Feel the cloth – it is not dyed but hand spun from naturally black wool. Handwoven too so it will hold the arrangement well but the fabric is a little thicker than the usual machine woven stuff so it won’t drape as fluidly. Now this is a traditionally sized toga so it has less opportunity for, hm, adjusting the appearance of the wearer, but that’s all right because Master has the right conformation for toga wearing, you know, broad shoulders, narrow hips, not fat so no need for adjustment.”

That was good – complimenting Master while seeming to be simply stating a fact.

“So let’s get the toga up -”

Master tossed the _tabula_ onto the bed and stood still, arms up.

Ven and Moss held the toga at the ends and gradually stepped apart to the correct distance. Moss took the edge of the cloth and lifted it to Master’s shoulder. It hung to the floor in front of Master’s feet and draped over his left arm. Moss tentatively began folding the cloth on the shoulder and Ven crept around Master passing the toga under his right arm.

Icarus clapped his hands together sharply.

“Oh dear me, no,” he said. “You boys are tiptoeing around Master as if he were a crocodile about to bite.”

Yes, Ven thought. That’s what Master is!

The crocodile stared straight ahead. Apparently it hadn’t heard anything.

“But he’s a man, putting on his manly toga, not a beast. A trick that can help is to not think of Master as your master, but as a toga stand because that’s what he is right now: a body to drape cloth on. I know you are nervous, Moss, but you can do it. You’ll have more control if you stand on a stool. Let’s try it again.”

To Ven’s surprise it really was easier when he thought of Master as just a body. He could concentrate on the cloth and his own actions rather than worrying about accidentally offending Master. Moss was able to fold the cloth more effectively while on a stool. Ven took the cloth around, under the right arm and tossed the end back over the left arm. Moss was easily able to arrange the new end so it held the first end down.

Moss jumped down from his stool and stood back with Ven to look at their work. 

“Now the 360,” Icarus said.

They walked around Master the toga stand. The folds were not as fluid as master’s usual toga virilis but they did have a grand statuesque quality. Moss darted forward to adjust the folds in the _sinus_ in the front.

“You have a good eye, Moss,” Icarus said. “You have artistic flair. And Ven, I dare say that you will be able to arrange a good business-like toga for Master very soon.” He turned to Master and gestured at the mirror. “Master, does the arrangement of your toga meet with your approval?”

The crocodile – Master came to life and looked at his reflection.

“Well done,” he said.

Ven looked at him suspiciously. Master had stood there and listened while Icarus called him a crocodile and made no indication that he heard. Surely this forbearance would not last.

Voices in the atrium distracted them.

“Thanks, Willow, but I am expected,” someone said, and the curtain was pushed aside by Master’s favourite freedman, Badis.

“ _Domine!_ ” Badis said enthusiastically, bowing and kissing the hand master offered him. “You are looking good today, despite the mourning toga.”

Badis made regular but infrequent visits to Master’s morning client interviews. He had no stipend, although Master gave generous gifts, especially to Badis’s little girl. Badis treated the household slaves with friendly familiarity and made himself at home behind the scenes whenever he wanted a chat with Icarus, or to give advice to Willow. It looked like he was here to accompany Master to this funeral ceremony. Ven thought he had better get himself ready to go out in his best livery tunic.

“Welcome, Badis. Time has been kind to both of us,” Master said, slapping the freedman’s shoulder. “Better than either of us expected once, though we should leave these reminisces till this evening.” He waved Icarus away and the older slave left promptly. “Ven, I will not be needing you as Moss will accompany me out today. Moss, get ready to go out and collect two sets of bath equipment, plus my best _pallium_.”

Moss was accompanying Master? For a moment Ven thought he might say something or cry. He was staying home and Moss – Moss! – was taking his place. His place, right behind his master. It was a kick in the gut, that’s what it was, and it left behind a sick fear that Moss could take his place.

A slave without a place was a slave in danger of sale, or worse.

“You won’t want to wear your best tonight, sir,” Badis said, frowning at Ven in warning.

Ven recovered himself quickly.

“You could be right,” Master said. “Well then, Moss, bring my third best _pallium_ as well. Ven, you had better help him get ready. And call a cycleshaw for three.”

“Yes, master,” both slaves said and left the room.

Once out of the cubiculum Ven ran across the atrium to the slave’s rooms, Moss right behind him. Ven turned in a sudden fit of anger to shout at Moss, only to find him white and shaky. It stopped his anger dead. Poor Moss: it wasn’t his fault.

“You’ve lost your nerve,” Ven said.

“Never had it,” Moss muttered. “I don’t mind serving here with everyone else, even that night with you in the bath – so that’s what Master was doing, checking my bath service out – but not on my own.”

He hunched and shrugged his shoulders, where the fine scars left by a knife still showed clear.

“You’ll be alright.” Ven pulled him close for a brief hug. “You only need to follow orders as you do here. I’d better call the cycleshaw.”

As Ven texted for a ride Willow appeared from the kitchen at the same time Badis came from the atrium.

“Don’t you worry, Moss, I’ll help you out,” Badis said calmly. “You need to change into your good tunic, and put on a _subligaculum_. Willow, could you get two sets of bath tools ready? Ven and I will roll up the _pallia_ for carrying. Come on now, get moving! Master is waiting.”

In the linen store Ven watched in fascination as Badis laid out the two required _pallia_ , folded them and rolled them up tightly.

“Give me that tunic rope,” Badis ordered.

He hitched the rope around the best _pallium_ in a few places and secured the roll.

“Do you see?” he asked Ven, as he tied up the third best _pallium_ more slowly.

“Not really,” Ven confessed. “Could you show me this sometime, sir? How did you learn how to do this so neatly?”

“I learned in my childhood, when I was a nomad in Mauretania, and perfected the craft when the master and I were in the army. It’s a useful skill, and I’ll ask permission to teach you.” Badis paused and put his hand on Ven’s shoulder. “I know you are worried about Moss taking your place but you needn’t be. Moss is going today because after the funeral we’re going to the baths with a Transatlantic trader, from the Aztlan Alliance, but we are not doing business so the _dominus_ will not bring you as you are his secretary.”

“But he will be doing business,” Ven said, bewildered yet again by the odd behaviour of free men.

“Yes, but not officially, and the presence of his slave secretary would make the meeting more formal,” Badis said. “You won’t get an explanation from the master so I’m telling you. Today Master visits the grave of our old commander, swaps his funeral toga for his best _pallium_ for the baths, after that he’s going out with the old Legionaries and I’ll attend him. It could get a bit rough so he’ll send Moss home for the evening and he’ll wear his third best _pallium_.”

“So Moss is going only because I would make it too formal?” Ven asked slowly, trying to get his head around this complicated day.

“That’s right. Let’s get a cover for the toga. We can fit the _pallia_ in it for the moment.” 

Moss stood in the atrium twitching a bit. None of the slaves were used to wearing underwear and it felt a bit restrictive. But he was going to the public baths, where the free were naked and the slaves were clothed, so he had to wear a _subligaculum_. Willow brought out a basket with the bath gear in it, including Master’s own blend of oils. Moss took the cloth roll onto his shoulder and carried the basket, looking overloaded and miserable.

Master strode into the atrium. Ven knelt and Moss started to, but Badis stopped him. Just as well; Moss looked like he might tip over with everything he was carrying.

“Willow!” Master called, and Willow appeared to kneel beside Ven. “I won’t be back till late tonight. All the slaves have been well behaved recently so today you may watch movies on the big screen in the atrium. You may treat this as a festival day. But I want everything clean and back in its place before I return tonight.”

“Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.” Willow contained his glee but it was ready to burst out once Master left.

Petrus bowed from the door. “The cycleshaw is here, Master.”

Master waved Moss to the door. “Get the boy settled,” he said to Badis, who winked at Ven before leading Moss away. “Ven, you have your homework and exercises. After that you may spend the day as you please and -” Master appeared to struggle heroically with himself, “you may remove the plug. But put it back first thing tomorrow morning!”

“Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.” Ven bowed down to kiss Master’s feet in gratitude.

“Willow, there will be no complaints from the neighbours this time. Enjoy yourselves!”

And he left. The slaves in the atrium waited tensely until Petrus returned, thumbs up.

“Yes! Whoo-hoo!” Willow punched the air and jumped in excitement.

The other slaves piled in and filled the atrium with their excitement. It was rare for the slaves to get a whole day to themselves filled with pleasure. A festival day meant only the basic housework needed to be done. Grumio and the cooks would produce festival food, including snacks for tonight’s movie, and they could drink the better quality wine (but not the actual good stuff). The couches from the _triclinium_ would be brought into the atrium for the movie, and carefully covered so no slave would accidentally spill food on them. They could use the baths and generally run around with no kneeling needed all day.

“Let’s get all our chores done,” Willow said, “and then we can help Grumio with the food.”

“I’m up to date with the garden,” Icarus said, “and I am going to tend to my bonsai.”

“You tree sadist,” Ven said, grinning.

“You’d know all about sadism,” Icarus said before heading to the garden and his tortured little pine trees.

The first thing Ven did was remove his plug. That always felt funny so he put on his fitness tracker, found the weights stashed away in one of the cubicles, warmed up and started on his prescribed exercises. Gotta get those glutes and abs toned for his admiring public.

Once he’d worked up a little sweat Ven decided it was time for some spreadsheet homework. It was like getting spanked by Master: much worse in the imagination than reality, although analysing this accounting program was proving to be more like tortuous bondage than a spanking. But after an hour of solid effort he was able to send his work off for marking and then finish his work out. Now he was sweaty – was it time for a bath?

The atrium was quiet. The couches from the _triclinium_ were laid out neatly, tables set out, but no one was there until Grumio marched in from the kitchen carrying a tray of little somethings followed by his kitchen skivvies also carrying trays of little somethings. 

“Ven, you’ll be glad to know that all the chores have been finished faster than I’ve ever known, but you’ve missed out on voting for the afternoon TV shows, as well as the expedition to the market led by Chrestus. Junio, give Ven the list of downloads for this afternoon so he can get started on them.” Grumio settled on the couch in front of the big TV, his tray nearby. “It’s _The Great Italian Bake Off_ for me.”

“Followed by a rousing second helping of _The Great British Bake Off_ ,” Junio said, rolling his eyes.

“I want my documentary on gardens of the Rising Sun!” Icarus peered into the atrium brandishing his secateurs.

“It’s on the list,” Grumio said. “Now fuck off unless you want to learn about pastry.”

Ven escaped to the break room where he downloaded the list of shows for the afternoon’s viewing. He and Willow were the only slaves with the authorisation to download shows, and that was normally only the educational programmes Master allowed, such as the Italian cooking shows for Grumio and the occasional gardening show for Icarus. 

For himself, Ven decided to try the first episode of _Imperial Earth_ , which had good reviews on the slave pages.

Willow looked over his shoulder at the list. “ _Imperial Earth_? It looked a bit pretentious to me when I saw a bit on the TV here.” He jerked his head at the old box in the corner of the room, usually the only access the slaves had to TV. 

Junio peered into the break room. “Chrestus is back with the shopping and Grumio wants a hand with the food. If we want our feast tonight we all have to do our part. At least this time we will be eating our own work!”

“I’ll help out for a bit, then I want to read my book,” Ven said. His new novel, set in fifteenth century Venetia, had reached an exciting moment where the lagoon seemed to be full of decomposing bodies inconveniently floating to the surface. And today he could read it for as long as he wanted. “And then a bath!”

“Won’t Moss be at the baths now?” Junio asked. “I hope he’s all right. They’re meeting with that Aztlan aren’t they? I’d be scared that he’d kidnap me and sacrifice me to one of their creepy gods!”

“Honestly, Junio, you can be an idiot,” Willow said. “Master is just showing him the attractions at the Diocletian Baths, not traipsing off into the wilds of Transatlantica.”

“There’s no point in sacrificing Master anyway,” Ven said. “Just think – you go to all the trouble of kidnapping him and cut open his chest and reach in to pull out his beating heart – only to find he doesn’t have one. Bit of a disappointment really.”

“Oooh, you’re so sharp you’ll cut yourself,” Willow said, snickering. “Get yourself into the kitchen, Ven!”

Ven cheerfully joined in to the noisy camaraderie of the kitchen. That was one thing he didn’t like about his current working situation (apart from the obvious): he had fewer opportunities to work with his fellow slaves.

Willow appeared with a clip board. “Big decision now, boys,” he said. “What do you want as the movie of the evening?”

“Not another weepy,” Chrestus said firmly. “Or another rom com.”

“ _bella astra VII vim suscitat_ ,” Congrio the kitchen skivvy suggested to Junio’s enthusiastic nod. When everyone else shook their head he tried, “ _dominus anulorum-_ ”

“We’ve seen them already,” Willow said firmly. “We want something fun. I know, what about Jamius Bondus? There are some we haven’t seen. What do you think, Ven?”

“I haven’t seen a Bondus film all the way through, not since I was a kid,” Ven said. “Just a few glimpses on the box here.” He indicated the CRT in the corner, showing its extreme age with very strange colours.

“You haven’t seen a Jamius Bondus film!” Congrio was shocked.

“I haven’t had time here,” Ven said, “and my previous owners watched subtitled Gallic farces, or slow moody dramas set on the western Caledonian isles. A bit of Bondus mayhem sounds fun.”

“Bondus it is.” Willow picked up his tabula. “We haven’t seen _ruat caelum_ yet, so that’s the movie for tonight.”

Ven took a few minutes to try _Imperial Earth_. It had impressive production values and, once you got over the ridiculous premise of everyone in the Terran Empire being enslaved for five years, some good acting and script. There were two problems though. The series followed the modern trend of a story arc, which was no good for a slave who could not be certain of watching all episodes or of watching them in order. The other problem was that, since the slave action was all in the foreground with the main actors, the usual little fun moments with the slaves in the background were missing. A good show, Ven thought, but not for him. You just couldn’t beat the old shows like _Iter Astra_.

He took his book into the bath and settled in for a nice afternoon.

 

xxxxx

Moss returned in the late afternoon rather pleased with himself. He hadn’t seen any of the funeral rites but according to Badis it went off very well, and his time at the bath had been fine.

“Very respectable,” Moss said. “Master did not ask me to take off my loincloth and the Aztlan man barely looked at me. His name was Huitzilin which means hummingbird – we saw them on that documentary, remember? Well, his name meant something like hummingbird perched on an obsidian dagger.” Junio shuddered for effect and Moss sniffed disdainfully. “They talked about vanilla and chilli. No one mentioned hearts.” 

After the bath Badis had called a cycleshaw for Moss and now that he was home he was keen to relax. 

“It’ll be movie time soon!” Willow called.

Moss rushed off to spend a little time in the home _balnea_ after spending hours serving others. The rest of the slaves arranged the _lecta_ , the tables and the food. 

It was a great movie. Daniel Rūpes had the bluest eyes, disturbingly like Master’s but really you couldn’t hold that against him. There was a great theme tune, guns galore, trains – what more could you want? Jamius Bondus nilnil Septimus had a Mysterious Past which was movie code for ‘had been a slave’, but Ven couldn’t see it – no one who acted like Bondus could have been a slave.

The food was excellent; Grumio had outdone himself in producing the food normally eaten by Master and his guests.

After the end credits Ven sighed in satisfaction.

“Thank you Publius Aurelius Agrippa Constans and Huitzilin of the Aztlan Alliance for this wonderful day!” he said, and spilled a little wine in their honour.

The rest of the slaves followed suit, then Willow sat up.

“Time to clean up and get to bed, boys,” he said.

Master might be in a grumpy mood tomorrow after too much wine tonight, but still, today had been one of the best Ven could remember.

xxxx

The next day Master was indeed grumpy but confined himself to snapping irritably with only one ill tempered spanking which wasn’t even very hard.

The next afternoon, however, Ven entered the training room to find Master holding a crop and slapping it against his own forearm, which was distinctly odd. Before Ven could kneel inside the door and crawl to Master’s feet he was beckoned closer.

“Hold this steady,” Master said, handing him the crop.

Puzzled, Ven did so only for Master to flick the end against his own arm. It was not usual for Master to try out any of the implements he used on himself and that worried Ven. Master tried several crops and switches before he returned to the first one.

“Onto the bench, Ven,” Master said jovially.

Suppressing a sigh Ven climbed on. Jamius Bondus seemed to able to resist all sorts of torture; Ven could only hope he never met his master.

xxxx

Two months later Icarus was called to the entrance by Petrus. There was a parcel for him, a heavy parcel. Master was in his _tablinum_ with Badis so Ven was free to congregate with all the other slaves to watch Icarus open the box and pull out the contents.

It was a bronze crocodile, very realistic, with that toothy reptilian smile. Icarus looked at it for a while.

“Just what I need,” he said and put it in the fountain to lurk half submerged.

How doth the little crocodile  
Improve his shining tail,  
And pour the waters of the Nile  
On every golden scale! 

How cheerfully he seems to grin,  
How neatly spreads his claws,  
And welcomes little fishes in,  
With gently smiling jaws!

**Author's Note:**

> Translations
> 
>  
> 
> _Lararium_ Household shrine devoted to the _Lares_ or protective spirits, the _Penates_ or guardians of the storehouse, and the _Vesta_ or heath goddess of the house (at least as defined in 2770 auc)
> 
> _balnea_ sumptuous bath in a private house
> 
> _frigidarium_ cool pool
> 
> _triclinium_ dining room
> 
> _toga pulla_ dark toga for mouning
> 
> _concubīnus_ a male concubine or bed-slave
> 
> _tabula_ tablet
> 
> _toga virilis_ toga of manhood, normal white toga
> 
> _sinus_ a portion of the toga, which hung down in front of the body, like a sling
> 
> _pallium_ a rectangular length of cloth used as a less formal garment than the toga
> 
> _subligaculum_ loincloth, underpants
> 
> _ruat caelum_ though heaven falls
> 
> _lectum_ reclining couch used for dining


End file.
